


Reasonable Doubt

by rosehips



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Angst, Established Barson, F/M, canon-typical depictions of violence and sexual assault, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-12 23:12:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13557603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosehips/pseuds/rosehips
Summary: A Homicide investigation tests the SVU squad's deepest loyalties, and threatens Rafael and Olivia most of all. Tensions rise both within and outside of the family they've all built as the media circus, the justice system, and their enemies roil into something deadly and out of control.





	1. Prologue.

**SUMMARY REPORT OF AUTOPSY**

**Name:**

SHERWOOD, Yvonne

**Age:**

28

**Race:**

White

**Sex:**

Female

**Height:**

5’5”

**Weight:**

130lbs

**Eyes**

Blue

**Scars or identifying marks:**

Appendectomy scar

**Hair**

Blonde

**Body Identified by:**

Isioma Sherwood, sister of the deceased

**EXTERNAL EXAMINATION:**

The autopsy is begun at 8:30 A.M. The body is presented in a black body bag. The victim is wearing a white nightgown, blue lace underwear, no brassiere. A silver necklace is found around the neck of the victim (fine chain, pendant that appears to be crystal or diamond).

The body is that of a normally developed white female measuring 65 inches and weighing 130 pounds, and appearing generally consistent with the stated age of twenty-eight years. The body is cold and unembalmed. The face is damaged by the bullet shot through the back of the victim’s skull. The hair is blonde and appears to be undyed, straight, and approximately 15 inches in length at the longest point.

The damage from the bullet wound to the back of the head measures 4 inches at its widest point, with the actual point of penetration measuring approximately 14mm. Bullet fragments indicate a 10mm bullet. The size of the bullet and the severity of the wound to the back of the head indicate that the gun was fired at a close range of one foot or less.

Upon removal of the victim’s clothing and further examination, no sign of sexual assault was found. No further wounds, defensive or otherwise, were found.

Limbs are equal, symmetrically developed and show no evidence of injury. The fingernails are medium length and painted pink. The fingernail beds are blue.

There is a scar on the right lower abdomen that appears to be residual of an appendectomy about a decade previous (confirmed by identifying witness). Otherwise there are no residual markings or tattoos.

  


**INTERNAL EXAMINATION:**

HEAD--CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEM: An examination of this area was not possible as the brain was destroyed by the bullet fired at close range.

SKELETAL SYSTEM: No breaks or fractures.

RESPIRATORY SYSTEM--THROAT STRUCTURES: The oral cavity shows no lesions. The mucosa is intact and there are no injuries to the lips, teeth or gums. There is no obstruction of the airway. The lungs are unremarkable.

CARDIOVASCULAR SYSTEM: The heart has a normal size and configuration.

GASTROINTESTINAL SYSTEM: All mucosa are intact, without lesions or injuries. Approximately 25 ml of partially digested semi-solid food, identified as chicken and rice, is found in the stomach. The colon and rectum are intact.

URINARY SYSTEM: The kidneys are unremarkable and without lesions.

FEMALE GENITAL SYSTEM: The structures are within normal limits. Examination of the pelvic area indicates the victim had not given birth. There is evidence of recent sexual activity but no indications that the sexual contact was forcible. Vaginal fluid samples are removed for analysis.

TOXICOLOGY: No drugs are found in the system. Trace amounts of alcohol are found.

  


**EVIDENCE COLLECTED:**

1\. One (1) white silk nightgown, size Small.

2\. One (1) pair blue lace underwear, size Small.

3. One (1) silver necklace with faceted clear stone pendant.

4\. Samples of Blood (type A), Bile, and Tissue (heart, lung, brain, kidney, liver, spleen).

5\. Eleven (11) autopsy photographs.

8\. One postmortem CT scan.

9\. One postmortem MRI.

  


**OPINION**

**Time of Death:** Body temperature, rigor and livor mortis, and stomach contents approximate the time of death between 1:30AM and 3:30AM two nights previous.

 **Immediate Cause of Death:** Gunshot wound to the head.

 **Manner of Death:** Homicide.

 - - -

Olivia was just putting her son to bed when her husband arrived home.

“Hey,” Rafael said softly, leaning against the doorway to Noah’s room. He’d hung up his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves already; his suspenders drooped at his sides. He looked dishevelled — exhausted, even — but handsome and happy to be home.

“Papá!” Noah exclaimed, sitting up. “You’re back!”

“Sorry I didn’t come in time for dinner, mijo,” Rafael replied, walking over to kneel next to where Olivia sat in her chair. “I had to work late.”

“We had so much ice cream for dessert, Papá,” Noah informed him, as Olivia shook her head and smiled. “We finished it all!”

“You finished it _all_ ?” Rafael repeated with dramatic disbelief. “You didn’t leave _any_ for me?”

“That’s what you get for coming home so late,” Olivia smirked, nudging his shoulder with her knee.

He shot her a serious look — an _I need to tell you something later_ look — that had her smile fading, but Noah didn’t notice.

“Will you read to me?” the boy asked instead.

“Of course,” his father agreed, loosening his tie. “What book would you like?”

“ _Ferdinand,_ ” Noah answered decisively.

“That’s three nights in a row,” Rafael told him even as he leaned over to pluck the book from the shelf by Noah’s bed. “Are you sure?”

“Yes!” Noah cried. “It’s my favorite. But you have to do the voices.”

“I always do the voices,” Rafael insisted, and despite his earlier look Olivia laughed, and her smile remained as her husband settled at her feet to read to their slowly tiring son.

By the time the book was done, Noah was half-asleep and satisfied.

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” Olivia said softly, leaning over to kiss his forehead; “Goodnight, mijo,” Rafael said, doing the same.

They exited his room quietly, turning off the light but leaving his door open a crack so as not to leave him completely in the dark.

“Is everything okay?” Olivia asked softly as they headed to their own bedroom.

Rafael grimaced slightly. “I’m not sure.”

Olivia turned and brushed her hand lightly through the hair that, loosened from its gel, had fallen in a soft sweep across his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut at her touch and her heart fluttered too. Five years of friendship, two of acknowledged love, one of marriage, and he could still do that to her at the blink of an eye.

She loved it.

She let her hand fall to rest at the juncture between his neck and his shoulder, lightly massaging the muscles there. “What’s wrong?”

He opened his eyes. “Have you ever heard of an Yvonne Sherwood?”

“No,” she frowned. “Why?”

Another grimace. “Whoever she is, she’s been found killed recently, and today Homicide brought me in to ask some questions.”

She blanched. “ _You?_ Why?”

“That’s exactly what I asked, but they wouldn’t give me a straight answer.” He reached up to give her hand a squeeze, then dropped it as he turned to walk to the closet. “They asked me if I knew her, if I knew _of_ her,” he continued, taking off his tie and suspenders and hanging them up. “They asked about my whereabouts on a few different dates.”

He removed his cufflinks and dropped them into a little tray on his dresser. “They wouldn’t tell me why they were asking. They wouldn’t tell me anything, actually. It was very strange.”

Olivia frowned. “ _Have_ you ever heard of her?”

He turned to face her. “No, never. I have no idea why they thought it would be useful to talk to me, or whether they got anything out of the conversation. _I_ certainly didn’t.” He began to unbutton his shirt with nimble fingers.

Already in her pajamas, Olivia walked over to help, just to feel their hands brush together.

“And you told them that?”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, a tell-tale sign he was trying not to become annoyed. “Yes, of course I did. I told them everything I knew, which was nothing at all. They didn’t seem happy about that.”

Olivia was quiet for a few moments as she finished unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. He hung it up neatly in the section of his closet devoted to clothes to be sent to the dry cleaner, then tugged off his undershirt and pulled on a nightshirt, changed into pajama pants too.

Not until after he’d finished brushing his teeth and preparing for bed did she speak again.

“Did it seem like they suspected you of anything?” she asked quietly from the bed.

Rafael turned off the lamp on his side. “That’s the thing,” he said, climbing under the covers. “I couldn’t tell at all. Which makes me think that they do, but I can’t imagine why.”

She considered this for a moment. Then: “Who did you talk to?”

“Marcus Perry.”

This reassured her slightly. She turned off her lamp too, and cozied up to him. “He’s a good detective. I’m sure he had a logical reason to ask you about it. If he couldn’t explain why, it must just be department politics. It’s probably nothing.”

“Probably,” he murmured into her hair. “But that poor girl.”

“Mmm,” she agreed, and burrowed closer, inhaling deeply until the smell of him filled her lungs.

It only lessened the unease in her stomach a little bit.


	2. Day One.

Days passed with no word from the Homicide detectives, and although Rafael and Olivia had by no means forgotten the event of his questioning, they began to let it fade from their minds. Perry would explain eventually, once he’d wrapped up whatever it was he was wrapping up, and in the meantime it would merely be an odd little mystery to them. Less of a mystery to Rafael than Olivia, and more of a worry, but fading all the same.

This is how they came to pass the last of their time unwittingly. Quick kisses on the way out the door, long days at work, one shared lunch. Three family dinners, one evening that was just Olivia and Noah as Rafael worked late. One night of love-making. A dozen or so jokes, a hundred or so smiles, three or four impatient retorts and two apologies.

Normal days, all of them — even most of the day that later, looking back, they’d think of as the last. And the first.

Rafael got home first, with Noah. He’d managed to leave work early that day, having finished up a trial and now only waiting for the jury to get back. It had been a long trial, several weeks, and he knew the jury would take at least a day to deliberate, but still he kept checking his phone.

“Papá, can you help me with homework?” Noah asked as soon as they got home.

Tucking his phone into his pocket, Rafael smiled. “You haven’t even tried on your own yet, mijo,” he pointed out.

Noah let his backpack fall onto the living room floor, then fell down dramatically beside it. “Yes I _did,_ ” he insisted. “I tried while I was waiting for you to pick me up, and it’s _hard._ ”

Knees creaking, Rafael sat down beside his son. “You got started on it that early? You’re a very good student, Noah.”

“No I’m not,” Noah whined, “or I would’ve _finished_ it all already and I could go play.”

Rafael sighed, recognizing the signs of an impending meltdown and realizing belatedly that he’d forgotten to bring Noah his afternoon snack. He briefly contemplated standing up to get him one, but dismissed the idea quickly at the thought of his unhappy joints.

“Tell you what, mijo. Why don’t you go get a granola bar for each of us,” he suggested, “and I’ll take a look at your homework. Here,” he added, “take your lunchbox and put it on the counter, okay?”

“O _kay_ ,” Noah groaned, and trudged to the kitchen.

Rafael unzipped his backpack and pulled out Noah’s homework folder, a glossy thing covered with images of _Star Wars_ characters; the type of folder Rafael would have killed for when he was Noah’s age, and vastly superior to the flimsy paper ones he used to carry around.

Noah’s only had a few papers in it. One was a worksheet that involved tracing, then free-hand writing, the numbers 1 through 5; two others involved word matching and pronunciation. Rafael estimated they’d be done in about half an hour, and then he could change out of his work clothes ( _should have done that before sitting on the floor,_ he thought) and take Noah to the park while they both waited for Olivia to get home.

His estimations were off: once Noah started, he actually required very little guidance — Rafael suspected he’d just needed reassurance in the first place — and took only fifteen minutes. They were at the park twenty minutes after that, and less than an hour later Olivia surprised them, having ducked out of work early too.

They played together, the three of them; made and ate dinner together too.

It was a good last few hours, as last few hours go.

Rafael was reading to a freshly showered Noah when came a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” Olivia offered. She’d been standing in the doorway to Noah’s room, watching her husband and son with a smile on her face. Now, frowning, she looked through the peephole.

Her heart dropped when she saw who it was: Marcus Perry, flanked by two uniformed officers.

She stepped back from the door, and Perry must have heard the movement.

“NYPD,” he called out. “Open up!”

She half-raised her hand to do so, then turned and ran down the hall. Rafael was already standing; he must have heard Perry — and Noah had too, she realized; he was looking back and forth between them, confusion plain on his face.

“Noah, sweetie, I need you to stay in here, okay?” Olivia said. “You and Eddie stay here.”

“Okay…” Noah agreed, clutching his stuffed elephant.

Perry pounded on the door again, and Olivia felt a flash of anger towards the man — he _knew_ they had a child, this was their  _home,_ how dare he —

“Olivia?” Rafael asked quietly, stepping out into the hall and shutting Noah’s door behind him. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Marcus Perry,” she told him. “He’s got officers with him.”

Rafael’s eyes widened in concern, but only slightly. “I guess we’d better answer the door, then, before he breaks it down,” he said wryly, but Olivia didn’t think he’d be joking about that if he’d seen Perry’s face. The man looked like he wouldn’t hesitate to knock the door down if he had to.

He didn’t have to.

“Are you aware that it’s eight at night?” Rafael asked, opening the door. He didn’t bother to hide the annoyance in his voice.

“You need to let us in,” Perry said, and although his voice was low it wasn’t soothing.

Standing just to his side, Olivia could see Rafael raise a sarcastic, contrary eyebrow. “Actually, I don’t,” he corrected Perry, “unless you have a warrant.”

Wordlessly, the detective handed Rafael a piece of paper. Olivia stepped forward to read it over her husband’s shoulder, but after just a few words jerked her head up to stare at Perry. “You can’t be serious,” she told him. Beside her, Rafael’s eyes were racing across the paper, reading the legalese in its entirety.

“I think you’d better let us in, Lieutenant Benson,” the detective replied, his tone even. “We don’t want to do this in the hall.”

“The warrant’s good to search the whole apartment,” Rafael told her numbly. He took a step back, and she went to him, keeping one hand on his arm as people began to enter. Far more people than she’d been able to see through the peephole, and her jaw dropped: four grim-looking unis; five detectives, one of whom carried a video camera; two CSU investigators with duffel bags — and —

“That’s a captain,” she explained to Rafael in an undertone when he cocked his head in silent questioning at her wide yes.

“Lieutenant Benson,” the woman said, “Mr. Barba. Captain Marshall, Homicide.”

 _Homicide?_ Rafael mouthed to Olivia, and she shook her head.

“Thank you for letting us in,” Captain Marshall continued, voice expressionless. “I’m going to let Detective Perry take the lead on this. He’s been heading up the investigation. I know I don’t need to tell you that your cooperation is required,” she added, speaking directly to Olivia.

“I need you to tell me what’s going on _right now_ ,” Olivia gritted out as politely as she could.

Marshall ignored her question. “Lieutenant,” she said, “we’re going to need you and your son to spend the night somewhere else.” To Olivia’s furious indignance, the captain then turned on her heel and followed a CSU investigator further into the apartment.

“Captain,” she hissed. The woman turned. “Our _son_ is down the hall. He’s awake.”

The captain looked at Perry and raised an eyebrow.

“We won’t go into his room until you’ve left, Lieutenant,” Perry explained quietly. “But we’re gonna have to search the entire apartment. It’s all there in the warrant.”

“It is,” Rafael confirmed without Olivia having to ask. “Judge Serani signed it one hour ago.” His voice was flat and furious. “What is this?” he demanded, taking a small step forward towards Perry, without shaking Olivia’s hand off.

Perry exchanged another glance with Captain Marshall, who nodded.

“Rafael Barba,” he began, and Olivia _knew_ that tone, she knew what was coming next, and without thinking she was standing in front of her husband.

“No,” she said, “no, _absolutely not_ —”

“Rafael Barba,” Perry continued steadily, with something that sounded like disappointment, “you’re under arrest for the murder of Yvonne Sherwood.”

“ _What?_ ” Rafael exclaimed behind her; at the same time Olivia demanded “On what grounds?”

“We have a warrant for your arrest,” Perry said, and Rafael snatched the paper from his hand.

Her fingers now digging into his arm (in a way that must have been painful, but he only moved closer to her), Olivia read this second warrant over Rafael’s shoulder.

 

**UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT**

**for the**

**SOUTHERN DISTRICT OF NEW YORK**

People of the City of New York  
vs.   
Rafael Barba

Case No. 122071

**WARRANT OF ARREST — FELONY**

To: ANY AUTHORIZED OFFICER

YOU ARE COMMANDED to arrest and bring before a United States magistrate judge without unnecessary delay Rafael Barba, to answer the charge that the Accused, within this city or county, did unlawfully and feloniously in violation of the law maliciously and fatally shoot Yvonne Sherwood with the intent to maim, disfigure, disable, or kill.

I, the undersigned, have found probable cause to believe that the Accused committed the offense charged, based on the sworn statements of Det. Marcus Perry, NYPD Homicide, Complainant...

 

The date and judge’s signature followed, along with a second page listing Rafael’s name and known aliases (none); last known residence (their home), prior addresses; last known employer (the City of New York); his Social Security number; his appearance and identifying marks; his history of violence, weapons, drug use (none); his known family — Olivia and Noah’s names — her name on a warrant, her _son’s_ name, a warrant for her _husband’s arrest_ , this couldn’t be right —

Rafael was still reading and re-reading, turning the pages over to find answers that weren’t on them, but Olivia looked up to read Perry’s face instead. He was watching them carefully, with no sign of impatience but instead a look of inevitability that was much, much worse.

“This warrant doesn’t outline any grounds for an arrest,” Olivia told him, jabbing her finger at the papers even as she knew it was hopeless. Warrants didn’t need to contain any more information than what was included on this one, and she’d arrested people on warrants with less.

But there had to be a _reason_ , and if it wasn’t on those papers she wasn’t going to just let them _take_ him. “There’s nothing here,” she pushed on, “ _nothing_ to show —”

“Liv,” Rafael interrupted, and his voice was high with distress but perfectly steady. “The judge ruled that there’s probable cause.”

“Fine,” she snapped, and regretted it instantly. “I want the names and badge numbers of everyone here.” She thought about going to the kitchen to get a pen and paper, but couldn’t leave Rafael’s side and couldn’t really drag him along, so instead she pulled out her phone and typed in the information one-handed as every single one of them, with Captain Marshall’s approval, gave her their information.

When she was done, Rafael handed the warrant papers back to Perry, who accepted them with a silent nod as the Captain watched on.

“Rafa,” she whispered, tugging him around to face her. “There is nothing they can possibly have on you that can’t be cleared up soon.”

He looked terribly pale, and she knew why: NYPD didn’t arrest District Attorneys on misunderstandings that could be easily cleared up. And she knew, she _knew_ she had a horrible habit of promising too much — it had gotten her into trouble with victims before, but this was different. This was different than anything that had ever happened, so much so that it began to dizzy her until she shoved the feeling down.

Unlike her, Rafael wasn’t one to promise anything even remotely uncertain.

“Call Rita Calhoun,” he told her in a low voice.

“Come on, folks,” Perry interrupted, but he didn’t move towards them. “Mr. Barba, we need to go now.”

“Call Rita,” Rafael repeated, “take Noah to my mom’s —”

“I will — I’ll come meet you as soon —” she turned to Perry. “Where are you taking him?”

Perry hesitated, then answered: “Rikers.”

“I’ll be there first thing in the morning,” she told Rafael urgently, and she was almost reassured by how sharp his eyes were. She pulled him into a hug, and he held her just as tight.

“We’ll figure this out,” he whispered, and she allowed herself to close her eyes for just a moment before stepping back just as Perry stepped forward.

“You gonna cuff me?” Rafael asked, trying to give one of his ironic, lopsided smiles, and failing so spectacularly that it nearly broke Olivia’s heart.

“No need for that,” Perry said, “but I’m going to have to check you for weapons before we go, Mr. Barba.”

Olivia’s throat nearly closed up in fury as the detective quickly patted down her husband; she tried to catch Rafael’s eye, communicate with just her gaze that despite being handled like a criminal he had _nothing_ to be ashamed of, but, jaw clenched, he kept his eyes on the far wall until Perry allowed him to drop his hands from on top of his head.

Only then, as Perry, towering over Rafael, took his arm, did her husband look at her again. Yes, everything happening now was different than anything that had ever happened to them, but she’d seen something close to that expression once before: when he climbed the steps of the DA’s building alone, of his own volition, to face what he thought would be the end of him, and looked back to find her. To make sure.

As she had then, she placed her hand over her heart. _I’m here. Always._ And he nodded, and then he faced forward, and then he was gone.

After that, things moved very quickly. The captain and her remaining officers weren’t as patient as Perry had been; one CSU investigator had already begun to systematically search the living room while a uni filmed to record that there was no tampering or planting of evidence. For a moment Olivia considered demanding to stay, to supervise, but even as the thought occurred to her she knew it was impossible. Besides, there was Noah to consider.

Giving non-answers to his questions, she had him and two bags of their belongings — searched and approved by the detectives — gathered and out of the apartment within ten minutes.

For a moment she stood in the near-silent hallway, shockingly empty after the crowd in her apartment.

“Mommy?” Noah tugged at her hand. “I left my homework inside. Can we go back and get it?”

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, then opened them and knelt down beside him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

“Noah, sweetie,” she began, and looking at his face she suddenly felt she might burst into tears, so she pulled him close until she could blink them away. She couldn’t let him see her cry.

When she leaned back again, though, he looked much more frightened than before.

“Won’t your friends let us back in?” he asked.

“Friends?” The word was so incongruous she could only repeat it.

“The police are our friends,” Noah said, parroting back words she’d drilled into him in case he was ever lost, or, God forbid, taken again. “Like Auntie Amanda.”

It was hard to hold back a hysterical laugh at the comparison: cops turning their home upside-down to find something they could use to imprison her husband for murder, _those_ cops, being like Rollins? Or Carisi, or Fin? No.

But to tell him that would only frighten him more, and so she lied.

“That’s right,” she breathed, forcing herself to smile. “That’s right, sweet boy. Our friends are just checking to — to make sure that our apartment is safe, okay? You know how sometimes Mommy’s job is dangerous?”

Noah nodded solemnly.

“Right, so they’re just making sure it’s safe, alright? So you and I are going to have a sleepover with Abuelita. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

Noah’s face lit up. “Yes, I wanna see Abuelita! Is Papá there? He never finished reading to me!”

Olivia rubbed his shoulders and upper arms, trying to figure out what to say. “He… Papá had to go in to work, Noah. It’s a special emergency, so we might not see him until late tomorrow.”

She prayed that the arraignment would be quick, that he’d be out by noon, but she didn’t want to get Noah’s hopes up.

“But he’s safe, okay?” she added before Noah could start to worry. “We’ll see him soon. Now, let’s go down to the lobby so we can let our — friends — work, and I’ll call Abuela.”

Like her son, Lucía was never far from her phone, and she picked up after just a few rings.

“Olivia?” she asked, a slight edge of worry in her voice. “It’s almost nine, is something wrong?”

Pushing back the shock that all of this had taken less than an hour, Olivia struggled to respond. She hadn’t really thought this through.

“Lucía, there’s been an emergency,” she managed to get out. “Rafael is fine, he’s fine, but Noah and I need to stay with you if that’s okay. I’ll explain everything when I get there. Noah’s right here next to me right now,” she added pointedly before Lucía could begin to bombard her with questions.

The Lyft ride over was quick, and Lucía was waiting for them in the lobby.

“Can you take him up?” Olivia asked quietly. She couldn’t meet Lucía’s eyes, not quite, not yet. Not until she told her. “I have to make one more phone call.”

“ _Now?_ ” Lucía’s voice was low but tense with disbelief. “Olivia —”

“Please,” Olivia whispered. “I’ll be up in a few minutes. I promise.” She forced herself to smile.

As soon as they were gone, she ducked back outside and called Rita Calhoun, over and over until the woman answered. And then she told her almost everything.

\- - -

The police station was cold and bright and everything was moving very, very quickly, faster than Rafael’s quick tongue and quicker mind. Still, he tried.

“You already have all this,” he protested as the officer led him to be processed. “I’m a New York City EADA —“  
  
“Trust me, we know.”  
  
“No, I’m saying I work for the state,” he insisted. “You already have my fingerprints and everything, there’s no need for all this.” He wasn’t sure why he was arguing this point; it wasn’t a big deal, it wouldn’t make a difference. Except it would, somehow.  
  
“Even so,” the officer shrugged, and offered no further explanation.  
  
And so, heart hammering, Rafael allowed himself to be led through the familiar-unfamiliar process. The officers pressed his fingertips into an inkpad and then again onto glass, and when he looked down at the prints he saw all the thousands he’d seen before. Prints photographed for his purposes, copies held in his own now-stained hands in dramatic display for a jury. The marks of a guilty man. And they swabbed the inside of his cheek for DNA and he thought of all the test results sent to him: a match, no match, familial match, inconclusive.

 _So this is what it’s like_ , he thought distantly, _being at the beginning._  
  
And then they led him towards the camera. He balked.  
  
“Is this really necessary?” he snapped at the officer, hating himself because his voice was high and reedy, and because he _knew_ it was necessary. If he were watching this as himself, as he should have been — if he saw a perp make such a protest, he’d roll his eyes and laugh.

And to his horror he was laughing a little now, too: “Come on, surely we don’t need to be doing all this,” he said breathlessly, knowing it was futile, but the idea of standing in front of that camera, he couldn’t do it. They already had his prints and his DNA, he gave that over happily when he became a DA, but a mugshot. A mugshot, _God_ , _there’ll be a record of this._ He _knew_ it would get leaked. It’d be in the newspapers, everyone would see it, Noah and his mother and Carmen and all his colleagues and friends, and as the officer said something about “standard procedure” and pushed him forward he knew he had to put a good face on it because _everyone is going to see it_.  
  
So he took a breath, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin, and stepped in front of the camera.  
  
It was over in a click and then he was done, half-blinded by the flash and by shock, and then there was Rita, here already with her poker face on. He walked to her, aware of how perfectly steady his gait was. When she touched his shoulder he refused to lean into her hand.  
  
“We’re gonna get you out of this, Rafael,” she said briskly.  
  
He gave her a mute nod. He couldn’t quite bring himself to speak but her tone had already grounded him a bit. Of course he’d get out of this. It was all some ridiculous misunderstanding; it would get thrown out at the arraignment, and he’d be back home by noon.  
  
Behind him, the officers were sending his mugshot to the appropriate authorities. In it, his face wasn’t that of a man scared, angry, and humiliated.

No: he looked expressionless. Emotionless. Dead-eyed, like a killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text of the arrest warrant is a total hodge-podge of formats from different states, based on what templates were publicly available and what was easiest to format on Ao3. Also, idk when the next chapter will be up, because none of the rest are fully written yet and there are a lot of plot details I still need to solidify before posting so I don’t mess up continuity. Also: grad school thesis. BUT. The chapters will come.


	3. Day Two, Part One.

**** Olivia got to the precinct at five in the morning, following Rita’s instructions even though every part of her was screaming to get to Rikers, to Rafael.

Chief Dodds was in the squad room to greet her.

“Lieutenant,” he called out the moment she stepped out of the elevator. He strode over, lowering his voice although his tone had already alerted the few unis scattered around. “You can’t be here.”

“I’m here,” she told him viciously, “to fill out paperwork for a _ leave of absence _ . Aren’t you going to ask me why? Or did  _ everyone _ know this was happening except me?”

He stepped back, raising his hands in a gesture so condescending — however unintentionally — that she could have slapped him. “Very few people knew,” he said as she stalked to her office, in what he must have thought was a reassuring tone. “I only found out after the arrest.”

“Why weren’t  _ you  _ there?” she asked, shoving her key into the office door’s keyhole. “Why wasn’t anyone from One PP there? Or the DA’s office?” Not that she’d wanted them to be, but — she’d used the key so forcefully she couldn’t get it to turn. Shaking the knob, she felt it jam; she tried to yank the key out, but only managed to bend it, and it was broken, and she couldn’t even get into her own fucking office to fill out her  _ fucking paperwork — _

“Here,” Dodds offered. “I can…” She stepped to the side and let him jimmy out the key, gently re-insert it, and unlock the door. He followed her in.

“Thanks,” she said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “You gonna stand over me the whole time, or can I be trusted to write my own name on a few forms?”

Dodds hesitated.

“ _ Fine _ ,” she snarled. “It doesn’t make a difference.” She booted up her computer, and glared up at him as she waited for it to load. “So? Why are you here  _ now _ ?”

“One PP didn’t think it was necessary for the DA’s office to get involved, or anyone outside Homicide. But they thought it would be best if someone was here for you this morning.”

She laughed. “ _ Here for me. _ Right.” She didn’t miss the rest of what he’d said, but filed it away to examine later: One PP had been afraid that if the news of the warrant on Rafael had gotten outside of Homicide, it would have leaked to her. That was something to go on.

“Here for me,” she repeated, shaking her head. “That’s a nice way of saying they don’t trust me to set foot in my own precinct.”

“If I was following orders, Lieutenant, I wouldn’t even be letting you touch that computer,” Dodds snapped. “You better be able to recognize who your friends are, here. You’re going to need them.”

The file had finally come up, and Olivia hit “print” as forcefully as she could. The printer whirred to life.

“My husband has just been arrested for murder,” she said to Dodds, keeping her voice controlled without trying to disguise its fury. “I need you to tell me  _ right _ now whether or not you believe the charges, and then I’ll decide for myself if you’re a friend.”

Dodds sighed. “Benson, you haven’t seen all the evidence.”

“And you have?” she demanded. “You  _ knew _ they were investigating him?” She pulled the papers from the printer.

He grimaced, but it was in admission, not apology. “What do you want me to do? Say I’m sorry I didn’t leak a Homicide investigation to the suspect’s wife?”

No, she didn’t; she knew that, but hearing her husband referred to as a  _ suspect —  _ “This is  _ Rafael _ we’re talking about, Dodds,” she reminded him, hardly believing she had to remind him at all. Was he stupid? “What evidence could they possibly have, anyway?” 

She hadn’t meant it as a question, didn’t expect or care to hear an answer, but he responded all the same.

“Homicide doesn’t make arrests without evidence,” he pointed out, repeating her thoughts from last night. “Especially not arrests of EADAs who are married to NYPD Lieutenants.” 

Looking down, she realized her hands were in fists, and the paperwork was half-crumpled. She slammed it on the desk and flattened it with one palm, grabbing a pen with her other hand. “Just say it, Dodds,” she snapped, refusing to look at him as she scrawled out the required information. “Tell me whether or not you believe this — this  _ bullshit _ ,” she said, wishing she could think of a word a thousand times stronger. 

“I haven’t seen  _ all  _ the evidence,” he amended, and she didn’t care whether or not he was lying. “I’d have to review —”

Olivia shoved the completed paperwork into his hands. “You should go into politics,” she sneered; “You couldn’t give me a straight answer if your life depended on it.” She stepped back, looking him up and down with open contempt. “It’s a good thing it doesn’t,” she added. “But  _ his _ could. So if you’re going to be my friend, you better take another look at that evidence and decide you’re his, too.” She swept past Dodds and towards the bathrooms, hoping he wouldn’t follow her. 

He didn’t, and she was grateful ( _ how pathetic,  _ she thought) that at least there was no one outside to hear her retch bile into the toilet. 

- - -

“Change of plans.”

Olivia paused, one arm already in her jacket, phone pressed between her ear and shoulder. “What? Why?”

“I got us an early arraignment,” Rita explained. “Judge Barth is coming in at seven, before official hours so we can all avoid the embarrassment of being swarmed by the press. So we’re meeting at the courthouse instead. I — hang on.”

Muffled voices on the end of the line. Rafael’s wasn’t one of them.  _ Judge Barth,  _ Olivia thought as she waited.  _ That’s good. She likes Rafael.  _ Catching a glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror, she pushed back her hair and tried to ignore the already-dark rings under her eyes.

“Can you swing by the apartment and bring him a suit?” Rita asked. “They’re giving him time to change at the courthouse.”

Olivia had forgotten he’d been in his pajamas this whole time.  _ He must feel humiliated,  _ she thought. She knew his suits were his armor. 

“Yeah,” she said to Rita. “Yeah, I’ll be there by six thirty.”

She barely managed it, but she got there in time — handed off the suit to Rita and bit back an angry question about not being able to see Rafael herself; she knew why she couldn’t — then went to sit in the gallery. To sit behind him like she had a thousand times before, but this time it was on the wrong side of the aisle and he was going to be in the wrong seat. 

And Judge Barth, she didn’t look right either, she wouldn’t even look Olivia in the eye. Olivia suddenly remembered Rafael’s hands covered in blood: Johnny D, the courtroom shooting; Rafael red-handed afterwards because he’d been pressing down on her shoulder to staunch the bleeding.  _ He saved your life,  _ Olivia wanted to remind her.  _ You know he’s a good man.  _ She bit her tongue.

Rafael came in just then, a guard on one side and Rita on the other. He looked the way he was supposed to in the suit she’d brought him: sharp, professional, in control. The dissonance was dizzying, but Olivia got to her feet and he forced a smile for her. She put her hand over her heart. He nodded, then turned around to face the judge. His voice was steady when he pled “not guilty.”

Some lawyer she’d never seen before was on the other side of the aisle — square-jawed, blond, stoic. She hated him even before he opened his mouth, and when he spoke she hated him more.

“The People request remand, Your Honor,” he said, and Olivia nearly laughed out loud at the audacity of it. Instead she turned her head away, and as she did she noticed Jack McCoy sitting in the back of the gallery. On the side that was against Rafael. 

“...has the means to flee the country, and ties to Cuba, which has no extradition treaty with the United States,” the blond lawyer was saying. “Therefore we again request remand, with the defendant placed in protective custody due to his prosecution of other incarcerated criminals.”

_ He’s not a criminal,  _ Olivia wanted to say.  _ And he would never flee. He’s never backed down from a fight in his life. _

Again she forced herself to stay silent. Rita would speak for her and for Rafael instead.

But the other lawyer wasn’t done. 

“Finally, Your Honor,” he said, “we have reason to believe that the defendant, if released, could be a danger to himself or others. CSU technicians found an unlicensed weapon hidden in his apartment last night.”

Olivia started as the man held up the printed image of a handgun in a carefully labeled evidence bag. 

“That’s not possible,” Olivia hissed to Rita, leaning forward. “Someone planted that.”

Rafael met her eyes with an anger she knew wasn’t directed at her. They were both thinking the same thing:  _ Who did this? Where did they hide it, and when? If Noah had found it and thought it was a toy… _

But he hadn’t, Olivia reminded herself, and she broke protocol just briefly to touch Rafael’s shoulder before Rita leveled a glare that very much  _ was  _ directed at her.

"The defendant did not disclose the existence of this firearm during processing," the other lawyer added. "The People believe it is possible that he has other weapons hidden in his apartment or at a secondary location, and the motive to use them."

Shaking her head, Rita rose to her feet. 

“Your Honor,” she said, “these charges are ludicrous, and the request for remand is even moreso. There is no evidence that the gun belongs to Mr. Barba, and regardless of that the weapon is now in police custody and cannot be used by anyone. The prosecution's claim of additional weapons is pure speculation.” 

Olivia didn’t see how Rita could claim there was no evidence the gun belonged to Rafael, given where it was found, but she wasn’t about to call Rita on that. Not when they needed it to be true. Not when she  _ knew  _ it was true. 

“My client is a respected employee of the state with no criminal record,” Rita continued. “He has strong ties to the community. His wife, son, and mother all live in New York. He has pled not guilty and intends to fight these ridiculous charges and clear his name. There is no risk of Mr. Barba skipping bail, let alone fleeing the country. We request R.O.R., and for Mr. Barba to be released immediately so he can return home to his family.”

Judge Barth looked down on the room for a silent, too-long moment. Olivia’s breath caught in her throat as she saw her look to Jack McCoy, then down at the papers in front of her.  _ No,  _ she thought,  _ no no no  _ —

“Bail is denied,” Judge Barth pronounced. “The defendant will be remanded to Rikers in protective custody.” She looked regretful as she tapped her gavel. Olivia could have slapped her. 

Instead, she turned to Rafael.  He was pale with shock.  _ How could they do this? How long will he be trapped in there? How safe, how protected, will he really be? _

“It’s okay,” Olivia heard herself saying. “We’ll —”

“We’ll appeal this,” Rita confirmed, voice smooth and confident. She looked rattled too, though. “But let’s take it step by step. We need to draft a statement so we can be ahead of the story when it breaks. In fact, we need to be the ones to break it. Control the narrative.”

“They’re not going to let me hold a press conference, Rita,” Rafael bit out. 

“Not you,” Rita said. “Her.”

Olivia’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but she found that she liked the idea: she could be useful. 

The guard cleared his throat, and Olivia realized they were all clustered in the middle of court, the kind of thing that normally wasn’t allowed. She supposed she should be grateful they’d been allowed to confer this long — grateful too for the private arraignment — but she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but resentment and anger, not when the guard took her husband's shoulder. 

“I’m coming,” Rafael said flatly, and the guard dropped his hand. “Meet me at Rikers to write the statement?” he asked them. Both women nodded, but it was Olivia he was looking at. 

“I love you,” she told him quietly. She felt exposed saying it here, but he needed to hear it. She needed to say it. 

“I love you too,” he said, and glanced down quickly as he swallowed, them back up to meet her eyes. “I’ll see you soon.” He kept his head high as the guard marched him out. 

“You look like you need a minute,” Rita observed to Olivia, managing to sound both wry and sympathetic. “Why don’t you go to the ladies’ room while I get my car; we can meet out front in five.”

Olivia nodded. “Thanks, Rita,” she said, voice thick with emotion. She only let herself take a moment in the bathroom, splashing her face with cold water and patting it dry with paper towels: she didn’t trust herself not to cry if she stayed alone with her reflection longer than that. 

She regretted her decision the moment she stepped back into the hall. 

“Lieutenant Benson,” Jack McCoy said amiably. “Say hello to Peter Stone.” He clapped the blond lawyer on the back. The man had the decency to look uncomfortable. Jack, seemingly unbothered, continued. “He’s the hotshot out of Chicago who’s going to be special counsel in the People vs Rafael Barba.” He squeezed Stone’s shoulder, and Stone gave him a tight smile. 

Stone, clearly uncomfortable, cleared his throat before offering his hand for Olivia to shake. “It’s a pleasure,” he said, then visibly winced at his own choice of words. 

She stared at him, then down at his hand, then back up.  _ Are these men delusional?  _ she wondered.  _ Have they no emotional intelligence at all?  _ No, she thought with a small jerk of a nod.

“I sure hope you suck,” she said to Stone, and met his gaze steadily until he had to avert his eyes. Then she walked away without looking back. 

- - -

“I don’t want you in uniform for this,” Rita told Olivia. “People need to see you as a wife and a mother, not a cop.” 

The room was cold and uncomfortable: metal table, metal chairs, all bolted to a concrete floor; windows on all sides so guards could look in. But not listen. 

“They wouldn’t let me wear it anyway,” Olivia reminded her bitterly. “Conflict of interest.” 

She shook her head and looked down at the table where her hands were holding both of Rafael’s. Then up to his face.  _ How can they keep him here?  _ she thought for the thousandth time since the arraignment.  _ How did that gun get planted?  _ Rafael looked distant, but in a good way, the way he always looked when he was thinking hard. Small frown, narrowed eyes. He wasn’t spaced out, though he looked exhausted. Olivia squeezed his hands and it only took him a moment to squeeze back. 

“What are you thinking?” she asked him softly. 

“I want you to talk about Yvonne.”

Rita gave him an alarmed look. “Do you know something about her?”

Rafael stared at her. “Rita,” he said slowly, “I’ve told you I had never heard of her until Homicide brought me in for questioning. I need you to never, ever ask me anything like that again.”

She brushed her hair back and lifted her chin. “What did you have in mind then?” she asked. 

Olivia wanted to make her apologize, but Rafael didn’t seem to need it, so she stayed quiet. She’d been doing a lot of that today. She hated it. 

“I’m not the only victim here,” Rafael explained. “She deserves to have her name heard too.”

Rita drummed her fingers on the table, nodding thoughtfully. “And it aligns you with her. If Olivia is advocating for both of you against — against whoever really killed her, that makes you and Yvonne allies in the public’s eye. Or at least you’re both victims of the same crime. You become more sympathetic.”

Rafael grimaced. “Yes, but that’s not the only reason to do it.”

“Don’t pretend to be all naive and idealistic,” Rita snapped. “You know how to play the media as well as I do, I know you were thinking the same — actually. Hmm.” She studied him. “ _ Do  _ pretend to be idealistic. Not naive, that’ll never fly, but if you can get people to see you as, you know, a dreamer and an optimist…”

Rafael barked out a laugh. “ _ That  _ image will be torn to pieces the moment the press gets a statement from anyone who knows me.”

“No it won’t,” Olivia interjected. He raised an eyebrow. “You’re a pragmatist, sure. But you’re a champion for victims, Rafael. You’ve fought the good fight your whole career. Anyone can see that if they look at the cases you’ve taken on.”

“She thinks I’m a feminist icon,” Rafael muttered to Rita, trying to laugh at the idea. His eyes were too wet to fool his wife. 

Rita sighed. “She’s right. I’ve been up against you enough times in court to know. You’re a bleeding heart, Barba, you only have to stop hiding it and you’ll win people over.”

“And how am I supposed to do that from inside a prison?” asked Rafael sarcastically. 

“We’ll figure that out next,” Rita said. “The first step is to write Olivia’s statement. What was that word you used?” she asked her. “Champion? We’re going to put that in there. Now, I give us twenty-four hours tops before the story leaks, so I’m scheduling the press conference for first thing tomorrow morning. That gives us time to pull this together, get you some rest,” she said, pointing to Olivia, “plus time to prep Noah.”

“No,” Rafael said emphatically. “Absolutely not. We are not dragging Noah into this, we are  _ not  _ forcing him to stand in front of cameras and get yelled at by reporters.”

“He’s a cute kid, it’ll win you a lot of sympathy if —”

“No,” Olivia repeated, just barely managing to keep her voice civil. “He is off the table.”

Rita pursed her lips. “He’s going to get dragged into this one way or another. I hope you know that.”

Rafael extracted a hand from Olivia’s grasp and rubbed his jaw without seeming to notice he was doing it.  _ He’s trying not to cry,  _ Olivia thought, and she felt so protective of him the emotion was like fury. 

“Leave Noah out of it,” she told Rita. “We’ll take care of him. We won’t let this get to him.”

Rita shook her head but didn’t push the matter. “Alright,” she said instead. “Let’s get this drafted. Olivia, we need you soft and sweet for this.” She looked at her dubiously. “Strong, but sweet,” she amended. “Let out some real emotion, but no anger. Be urgent, but not hysterical. Loving, but not doting or delusional. Personal, but without over-sharing. A little sad, but not sentimental. Be proud of his career as a prosecutor for victims, but don’t focus on the professional.  And —”

“— this above all, to thine own self be true?” Rafael finished sarcastically. “Are you done, Polonius?”

“No,” snapped Rita. “I’m trying to  _ help _ you, if you’ll let me.”

It wasn’t like Rita to ramble on so much like that, Olivia realized.  _ She’s nervous too.  _

It meant that she cared. A lot. But the thought brought Olivia no comfort at all. Neither did the too-brief embrace the guards allowed between her and Rafael when it was time to go. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered to her, then kissed her hard. She wanted him to bite her lip, to leave a mark. She wanted him to come home with her. She wanted to know he wouldn’t have to take off this suit she’d brought him and exchange it for an orange jumpsuit, a uniform of shame. She wanted him  _ safe.  _

“It is,” she said, and made sure not to say it like a question. “It’s gonna be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie: it was really hard to write this after Barba left. The rest of it may be slow going too. But I’m determined to get it done (and even forced myself to re-watch some of That Episode to incorporate the Peter Stone stuff here).
> 
> Anyway, I feel super rusty writing Barson in serious situations and I’m not sure I got their voices right, so I would sincerely appreciate any feedback/constructive criticism! And thank you to everyone who encouraged me to keep writing, especially to Rís for cheering me on every step of the way. <3


	4. Day Two, Part Two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN UPDATE AT LAST. And it's only been (checks watch) eight months! I can't promise it'll be back to any kind of regular schedule now because this fic is proving difficult on a few different levels. But I'm not abandoning it!

To establish some semblance of normalcy for Noah’s sake, Olivia took him back to their apartment. Lucía joined them there with a bag she’d packed clothes for the night and for tomorrow morning’s press conference.

“Can we order pizza?” Noah asked as they trooped inside. “Today is pizza day at school.”

“Sure, sweetie.” Olivia had been planning to order in food anyway. The very idea of cooking at a time like this exhausted her.

Noah looked tired, too. She’d hoped he’d be excited when she told him he’d get to skip school today, but he’d remained subdued. At least he hadn’t asked after his dad yet: he accepted without question the excuse ( _ the lie,  _ she corrected herself) that Rafael had to work. But he was picking up on Olivia and Lucía’s anxiety, there was no question about that. Even the prospect of pizza didn’t cheer him.

Instead he tugged at his grandmother’s hand and asked her to read to him. Rafael liked to tease Olivia about that — how the two Barbas were always Noah’s go-to favorite entertainers for storytime, ahead of Lucy and even Olivia herself. “He can tell you love the spotlight,” she’d tease back.

Lucía was usually thrilled to read to Noah. Today she hesitated and looked to Olivia.

“Go ahead,” Olivia said. “I’ll order.”

Over and over she refreshed the news, while down the hall Noah listened quietly to the story he was being told. No leaks.

When the pizza arrived, she only managed to force down a few bites before the morning’s bile threatened to rise again and she had to excuse herself. Distantly she heard Lucía say something to Noah at the dinner table, and then she was beside her in her bedroom, which was in neat, uncanny disarray. CSU had cleaned up behind themselves, but they put things back wrong. 

If she’d been expecting words of empty comfort, they didn’t come. 

“Are you ready for the press conference?” Lucía asked instead. She was wringing her hands in the exact way Rafael did when he was deeply distressed. Olivia was sure that, like her son, Lucía didn’t realize she was doing it. 

“Yes,” Olivia said automatically. “Actually, no.” She thought briefly of the address she’d made to the cameras at William Lewis’ demand, the terrible truth/lie he’d made her expose to the world.  _ Wouldn’t  _ he _ love to see what was happening now, _ she thought, and felt a rush of hatred for the man stronger than any she’d had since his death. As if what was happening now were somehow his fault, in the absence of a rational culprit to blame. 

“Well then,” Lucía said. “Noah’s exhausted. I’ll put him down for a nap, and then we’ll practice.”

Olivia gathered herself together and nodded — then made the mistake of looking at Lucía’s face. Her eyes were so soft with concern they looked almost like her son’s, and suddenly Olivia was bent almost in half with pain, pain so awful it became physical, filling her stomach and choking her until Lucía wrapped her in a hug, shushing her as she would a child.    
  
“It’s okay, mija,” Lucía murmured. “Hush. Hush.”   
  
Olivia forced herself to take a deep, shuddering breath, and stood up straight again. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, hating that she’d let herself break down. There was no time for that. By the time Lucía returned from Noah’s room, she had herself under control again.   
  
“Come, I made us coffee,” Lucía said, ushering them both into the kitchen.    
  
Olivia made a wet attempt at a laugh. “You sound like Rafael. He always has to have coffee in a crisis.”  _ Are they letting him have coffee?  _ she thought suddenly, and imagined his hands trembling from caffeine withdrawal.   
  
She realized Lucía had said something. “What?” she asked.   
  
Lucía gave her a look like she knew exactly what she’d been thinking. “I said, it never hurts to have some coffee while you figure out what to do.”   
  
Olivia took the offered mug and had a sip. It was Cuban style, smooth but so strong she had to force herself not to make a face. She’d done just that the first time Rafael made hers the same as his one early morning when they were both too groggy to think. He’d  _ cackled _ . She didn’t remember the day, or how long ago; the moment floated in front of her in perfect isolation, refusing to be grasped.

“You and Rafi drafted something?” Lucía asked, bringing Oliva back to the present.

“Yes.” She put down her mug and pulled out her phone. “With his lawyer. Here.” She pulled up the document and handed it to Lucía, who read it quickly.

“You should say what he’s like under stress.” 

“Sarcastic and annoying?” Olivia suggested, and felt relieved with Lucía let out a single bark of a laugh.

“Here,” she said, pointing at the screen. “Between when you introduce yourself and when you talk about him being a champion for victims. You need to tell them about his integrity and how he  _ never _ loses that, not even under pressure. They’re going to try to say ‘oh, he was having an affair, and on top of that the stress of the job, one day he just snapped,’ what a load of crap. You tell them up front he’s not like that and maybe they can’t sell that lie so easily, you see?”

“I do,” Olivia said. “That’s a good idea.” She’d have to run anything they added by Rita, but that was fine. Rita would make time.

Lucía was frowning. “Mentioning the dead girl… was that Rafi’s idea?”

“Yvonne?”

“Yvonne Sherwood, yes.”

“Yeah, that was his idea. He thought it would align them, position them both as victims.” Olivia eyed her mother-in-law. “You don’t think it’s wise?”

“I think it’s risky,” Lucía admitted. “But that boy knows how to calculate his risks.”

“Usually,” Olivia agreed. “But right now…”

“I know.” Lucia sighed and handed Olivia back her phone. “Better to do it, if only for his sake. Show him you still trust him.”

“He knows I trust him.” Olivia tried to keep the edge from her voice. She knew Lucía didn’t deserve it.

Lucía seemed impervious. “Still. Can’t hurt to remind him.” She straightened up from where she’d been leaning against the counter, and assumed the posture of the school principal she was. “Now let’s hear you read it out loud.”

 

And so the day crept by with excruciating slowness, with the same three questions on rotation ad nauseam in Olivia’s mind:  _ What will the news say when the story goes public? How can I protect Noah from all this? And what will happen to Rafael?  _ She tried not to picture what was happening to him now. Orange jumpsuit, concrete cell with a thin cot and a metal toilet in the corner, sludgy food, mocking guards.  _ Wrong, wrong, unfair, unjust. _

She corralled her attention and focused it on Noah, who was right in front of her, who she knew — at least here, at least for now — she could protect. Together with Lucía she kept him entertained, fed, and reasonably calm. They convinced him that Rafael was on a business trip and would be home soon; that it was a fun game to find where their police “friends” had put things and return them to their proper places; that yes, he’d have to miss school again tomorrow, but he’d get a special morning with Lucy and his teachers and friends would understand.  _ He’ll need therapy after all of this is over,  _ Olivia thought distantly. This time wasn’t like it was with Sheila, when he was young enough to accept hastily thought-up lies as comforting truths, so much so that even now he hadn’t yet realized that he’d been kidnapped.  _ He’s never going to feel safe again. _

Her phone rang. The caller ID read Jimmy MacArthur, and her heart dropped into her stomach.

“They know,” she whispered in a panic to Lucía where they stood outside Noah’s door. They’d been listening to his breathing slow as he fell asleep. It had been so peaceful. “It’s a reporter from the  _ Ledger,  _ they know.”

“Answer it,” Lucía urged, shuttling her down the hall. “Find out how much he knows. Wait, wait,” she added as Olivia lifted the phone to her ear. “Put it on speaker, I want to hear. I’ll be quiet.”

Olivia held the phone between them and answered.

“Jimmy,” she said evenly. “It’s almost nine.”

“You weren’t gonna get much sleep tonight anyway if what I heard is true,” he responded. He was using that voice she hated, the one that had come out now and then during the Heba Salim case. A jovial tone that utterly failed to hide the canny, scheming intentions beneath.

“And what exactly did you hear?” She gripped the phone tight.

“That your hubby got arrested for murder last night, and the judge denied him bail this morning.”

“Who told you that?” she bit out. Lucía put her hand on her arm.  _ Stay calm. _

“You know I can’t reveal my sources, Lieutenant. But are you saying it’s true?”

How she wished in that moment she had Rafael’s savvy for playing the media. He even enjoyed it sometimes. She tried to imagine what he’d say. A cool, collected  _ you’ve met him, Jimmy, you know he’s no killer.  _ Or a snarky offensive:  _ Didn’t it end poorly for you the last time you dug into my personal life and a case at the same time?  _ Or haughty, defensive, yet domestic —  _ I’m putting my son to bed, don’t call again. _

“Olivia?” Jimmy pressed. “Is he pleading guilty or not? Is it true the victim was a young woman? Help me out here, don’t you want to get ahead of this story? You tell your side and I’ll print the whole quote exactly as you say it. Whether or not you're standing by your man.” He didn't bother to hide his amusement.

_ Fuck off, Jimmy. Print that.  _ Lucía’s grip on her arm tightened, as if she were a mind-reader.

Olivia hung up. “Shit,” she whispered. 

“Don’t call him back,” Lucía told her, and in the same moment her phone rang again.

This time it was Rita.

“I just got a call from Jimmy MacArthur,” Olivia told her by way of greeting.

“So did I. Tell me you gave no comment.”

“I hung up on him.”

“Good. I’m moving the press conference from 10 to 7,” Rita told her briskly. “We can’t beat their morning paper but we can get ahead of Twitter, some TV, and most people’s morning commute radio, plus all the evening papers. I don’t know who his source is, but the  _ Ledger  _ wants this scoop badly so I’m betting Jimmy asked his little birdie not to tweet to anyone else. That means the  _ Times,  _ the  _ Post,  _ and all the national newspapers will hear it from the  _ Ledger  _ first, and the next thing they’ll see is your statement.” Rita sighed, then recouped. “There’s a bright side: now that they know what the story is, a lot more reporters are going to show up to hear your side than would have if all they knew was some police lieutenant was making an announcement about who knows what. You’ll have a real crowd.”

_ Bright side. Sure.  _ “Alright,” Olivia said aloud. “Okay.”

“I want you at my office by six,” Rita continued. “That gives us time to revise the statement to address any rumors that have formed, and still get to the courthouse on time. Are you wearing the white blouse we agreed on?”

“Of course,” Olivia snapped.

A beat of silence on the other end of the line, long enough for Olivia to understand what Rita was telling her:  _ I’m going to ignore your tone, but don’t think I didn’t hear it.  _

“I’ll be standing behind you on the left, and I want his mother on your right. I know you don’t want Noah there.” Olivia pictured Rita crossing her fingers and hoping she’d changed her mind. She exchanged a look with Lucía, who was now standing with her arms crossed.  _ She doesn’t trust Rita.  _

“No, we don’t. His nanny will be taking care of him. She’ll keep him away from the news.” Olivia rubbed her forehead and made a mental note to text Lucy about the change in schedule.

“You shouldn’t look at it either,” Rita advised. “It’ll only drive you crazy. Mute your phone and go to bed early. Take a sleeping pill if you have to, but only one. We need you rested and clear in the morning.”

_ How many clients have you given this advice to?  _ Olivia wanted to ask.  _ How many rapists, serial killers, and sadists have you tucked into bed like you’re doing with me? Do they all run together? Do you completely realize that this time is different? _

“Goodnight, Rita,” she said instead.


	5. Interlude, Day Three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally just a fic within a fic, the premise being “what if My Favorite Murder was a radio show and they talked about this case, and also how completely self-indulgent can I be.” (The answer is VERY. Hopefully this provides some enjoyable comic relief even if you don’t listen to the podcast.)

GINA HARTMAN: Hello, and welcome to True Crime Radio. That’s Kristen Kearney—

KRISTEN KEARNEY: —and that’s Gina Hartman. This morning we’re doing a retrospective on JonBenét Ramsey, but first we have to talk about the news. Also, for those tuning in for the first time, hello, welcome.

GH: Yes, welcome to Kristen and Gina’s Speculation Hour.

KK: Hours.

GH: Right, hours. Well, ninety minutes. Come on, Kristen.

KK: Sorry, Gina, sorry. If you’re new, hello, we’re not really called the Speculation Hour but we should be. If you’ve come for facts, you’re in the wrong place. If you’ve come for profanity and also gossip—

GH: —for speculation, one might say—

KK: —and for people talking over each other—

GH: —yes—

KK: —then you’ve come to the right place.

GH: Also, Kristen, we should say, this is also a _comedy_ hour. A comedy ninety minutes. A lighthearted, unprofessional, semi-factual ninety minutes about murder, crime, what have you.

KK: That’s right. So, if that’s not your cup of tea, that’s fine. It’s okay. Just, you know. Get the fuck out.

GH: Get. The fuck. _Out._

KK: Tell ‘em. Get outta here!

GH: Yeah!

[ _laughter_ ]

KK: But if you _do_ like it, which many of you do, and _thank_ you—

GH: —thank you _so much_ —

KK: —then you’re in the right place. Okay. So, news first. There’s a lot to cover these days.

GH: So much murder. So much crime.

KK: It’s true.

GH: It’s pretty bad.

KK: It kind of is, yeah. But today _I_ wanna talk about — ok, this is out of New York, literally just from this morning, and it’s bonkers. It’s insane, so buckle up, Gina.

GH: Oh my gosh. I’m excited. I think I know what you’re talking about but — okay, go, tell me.

KK: Okay. So, first off, the good ol’ New York _Ledger_ broke this story, which is hilarious, because now if the story blows up the _Times_ and all these fancy newspapers are gonna have to credit this, like, tabloid for the scoop. And they always have the best headlines, don’t they?

GH: They totally do. Hilarious.

KK: So for this one it’s, the headline, it says “Killer in the Courthouse,” and it’s a breaking story about the New York City _District Attorney_ who’s been accused of murder.

GH: Oh my gosh.

KK: So, the cover is two pictures of him, it’s his regular — well, I would call it a headshot, but for people outside of entertainment I guess it’s just what you would call a nice photo. Maybe it’s his official government ID photo that they take. I don’t know. He looks nice, right? His — oh, I should say his name, ha! His name is Rafael Barba. Manhattan EADA — oh, _Executive Assistant_ District Attorney, I think that’s different — is that higher up or lower than DA? — EADA Rafael Barba.

GH: Okay. Wait, that name sounds familiar.

KK: Right? That’s what I thought, and it turns out it’s because we’ve talked about him before.

GH: Ooh, really? When? I don’t remember.

KK: It was a couple years ago, but remember that creepy mortician? The really pale guy who turned out to be a serial killer, and he worked for the City of New York?

GH: Oh my god! Yes! Uh, um, Redneck. No. Rudnick, I think.

KK: Yes! Rafael Barba prosecuted that case.

GH: No way.

KK: He got Rudnick put in jail! We covered that case and we mentioned him. Also — okay, I’m gonna save that part for later.

GH: But that is so weird. So that — when he prosecuted that case, that was back when we liked him. But now we don’t like him anymore.

KK: Well, no. I mean, maybe. Innocent until proven guilty.

GH: Pssht.

KK: Right, who cares.

GH: It’s only the bedrock of our justice system.

KK: I mean, maybe he _is_ innocent! We’ll find out.

GH: We, personally, will find out. This crack investigative team of two.

KK: We will not.

GH: No, we will not. I’m not going all the way to New York.

KK: That’s the _only reason_ we’re not.

GH: That’s right.

KK: We’ve gotten off track.

GH: That is also correct.

KK: Where was I?

GH: Um, the headline. The tabloid.

KK: Right! So on the front page of the _Ledger_ it’s these two pictures, one he’s in his suit and all professional, and then the second one is his mugshot. And he looks _creepy_ in his mugshot.

GH: On a scale of, um, early, normal-looking Ted Bundy to late, terrifying Charles Manson, how creepy?

KK: Like, dead eyes. Not insane like Manson, but eerie.

GH: Ooh.

KK: So, here’s the story. This guy got arrested, um, yesterday, and the _Ledger_ broke the story this morning, so we are _on it_. And the story actually — okay, let’s back up.

GH: Okay.

[ _shuffling of papers_ ]

KK: So. About six months ago, back in May, this EADA starts having an affair with this woman, Yvonne Sherwood.

GH: Allegedly.

KK: Right, allegedly, thank you. So, she’s twenty-eight, and he’s almost fifty.

GH: Yuck.

KK: Unless — unless that’s your thing. As long as everyone’s a consenting adult.

GH: No, totally, you’re right, I’m sorry. Except she wasn’t consenting to — to the murder.

KK: I would assume not. Unless it was a murder-suicide but only one half. Assisted suicide.

GH: Could be. Could be.

KK: Except she was shot in the back of the head, so probably not.

GH: Hmm. Probably not. Tell me more.

KK: Okay. So, okay, affair going for six months, and then about two weeks ago Yvonne’s sister finds her body in her apartment.

GH: Oh no, poor baby!

KK: Yeah, it’s awful. She’s been shot in the back of the head and she’s still in her nightgown—

GH: — oh, honey —

KK: — and her door is locked, and no signs of a struggle, so, obviously it was someone who knew her, maybe even someone who had the key to her apartment, who comes in, she’s ready for bed or maybe it was in the morning, I don’t know, but she’s comfortable with this person, right? She doesn’t see it coming.

GH: Literally, because back of the head. She didn’t even get to fight.

KK: Yeah. It’s really sad.

GH: Was there any…?

KK: No signs of sexual assault, at least not according to the _Ledger,_ so that’s good. Also, this EADA was the prosecutor for a lot of special victims cases for a while, which is interesting.

GH: So he’s a murderer, but he draws the line at rape.

KK: I mean.

GH: Look.

KK: Listen.

GH: Allegedly.

KK: It’s all allegedly. Who really knows?

GH: Okay, keep going. Wait. You said he just got arrested yesterday, but they found this girl — they found Yvonne’s body a few weeks ago?

KK: Exactly, so the _Ledger_ says it’s because they were really careful about collecting all the evidence and they took their time and made sure before arresting him. Hang on, let me get the quote.

GH: I bet they had to be really careful because he’s a prosecutor. They knew it was gonna be high-profile.

[ _shuffling of papers_ ]

KK: Okay, here. “When the _Ledger_ reached out for comment, Detective Marcus Perry of NYPD’s Homicide unit stated that the police had completed a thorough investigation before making the arrest. ‘As far as the investigation goes,’ Detective Perry said, ‘we consider the case closed. It’s up to the courts now.’”

GH: Wow, so they’re sure they got him.

KK: Yeah. Okay, so remember the Rudnick case?

GH: The one we mentioned two seconds ago?

KK: That’s the one.

GH: Got it.

KK: So the lawyer he was up against for that one, her name is Rita Calhoun. And he’s _hired her as his defense attorney._

GH: Oh my god.

KK: I mean, that’s weird, I think. I also don’t know anything about the law in New York, but the _Ledger_ says they’ve gone against each other in court a lot before and now she’s his defense attorney?

GH: Do you think that makes him seem more guilty or less guilty?

KK: I don’t know. Maybe more, because look at who she’s defended before.

GH: Yeah. Hmm.

KK: Anyway, I haven’t gotten to the craziest part yet.

GH: Really?

KK: He was having an affair. Allegedly. Guess who his wife is.

GH: Um… I don’t know. I was trying to think of someone funny but I can’t think of anyone. Meryl Streep.

KK: You know, I have no idea who Meryl Streep’s husband is, so it could be.

GH: Could be!

KK: Except it’s not.

GH: Who is it?

KK: It’s this woman Olivia Benson, and she’s a lieutenant in the NYPD.

GH: Shut. Up.

KK: They used to work together when he was a prosecutor for the Special Victims Unit.

GH: Oh my god. Do you think she helped him? Like, as an accomplice? Or do you think she’s just totally blindsided?

KK: Well I looked her up and read about her and she seems like a total badass, like, takes no shit, all the integrity, you know the deal. And she’s been through some shit too, we should actually cover the William Lewis story sometime—

GH: Oh my god, that was _her_?

KK: Yes! That was her!

GH: [ _quiet gasp_ ] Okay, I remember reading about her, there’s _no_ way she was in on this.

KK: That’s what I think too. I think there’s no way she knew about this. Oh, by the way, Rafael Barba is the one who _prosecuted_ William Lewis. Both times.

GH: Jesus. Was that before or after they were married, or together, or whatever?

KK: Before. Well, who knows, but they definitely weren’t married.

GH: This has to be so awful for her. How long had they been married?

KK: Only about a year, I think.

GH: He started cheating on her after only six months?

KK: [ _laughter_ ] Would it have been better if he waited longer?

GH: Well, no. I guess, better to get it over with and get the divorce ASAP. Rip off the bandaid.

KK: Except, maybe do it without the murder.

GH: That would be better. Get divorced, but don’t cheat, and definitely don’t murder.

KK: It’s just common sense.

GH: It really is.

KK: That’s the thing, reading about him, he seems really smart. And looking at all his statements from the past and the cases he’s won he seems like he’s intelligent and he’s a good guy, fighting on the right side, but you’d have to be stupid, right, to marry a cop and then do this?

GH: Unless you’re a sociopath.

KK: That’s true.

GH: Sociopaths get overconfident, they think they can get away with anything so they keep pushing the envelope. It’s like a game, like, “I bet I can marry this cop and still get away with all this stuff because I’m a genius and nobody is as smart as me.”

KK: That's exactly right. And they’re good liars. They don’t feel any guilt about lying so you can’t tell.

GH: It’s never who you expect.

KK: It’s _never_ who you expect.

GH: I mean, I could be a sociopath.

KK: And I would have no idea.

GH: Except I’m an idiot, and I know I am.

KK: Well.

GH: You know.

KK: We know.

GH: I’m not a sociopath. Or am I?

KK: If I’m going to get murdered, I want it to be by your hand.

GH: Okay.

KK: Okay, great.

GH: So you think he’s guilty?

KK: I don’t know. Yeah, probably. It’s never who you expect and it’s always the husband. Or, in this case, the boyfriend. The secret boyfriend.

GH: Hang on, I want to play Devil’s Advocate.

KK: Okay!

GH: Except I didn’t know we were going to talk about this, or that it happened, or anything about this guy.

KK: Hmm.

GH: I’m going to wing it.

KK: You go, Gina.

GH: So, let’s say he really is a good person, and he got framed.

KK: Ooh.

GH: Maybe he was having the affair, maybe he wasn’t, but what if he got set up for the murder?

KK: I like that. That would be even more interesting.

GH: I bet you get a lot of enemies from being a prosecutor. I bet there are a lot of people that would want him to get put in jail.

KK: Oh my god.

GH: What?

KK: Look, she just released a statement.

GH: Who, the wife? Were you on your phone while I was advocating for the Devil? Kristen!

KK: I’m sorry! But listen, she did a televised statement. Here, I’ll play it into the microphone. This is breaking news, people. This is cutting-edge journalism.

 _[Staticky audio_ ]

_My name is Olivia Benson. I am a lieutenant in the Manhattan Special Victims Unit, but I have taken a leave of absence. I am speaking today out of uniform and as a wife and mother. I am speaking on behalf of my husband, Rafael Barba._

[ _pause, sound of cameras_ ]

_I have known Rafael for almost ten years. I worked with him on the hardest cases I’ve ever taken on. I’ve seen him under the most intense pressure and stress. He never once let that pressure stop him in his fight for justice. He never cut ethical corners and he never allowed anyone else to either._

[ _extended pause_ ]

GH: [ _whisper_ ] Oh my gosh, she’s trying not to cry.

KK: Shh.

_Rafael is unwavering in his honesty and his integrity. He is a champion for victims, and he has dedicated his entire life to serving them and prosecuting criminals. His devotion to justice is one of the many reasons I — one of the many reasons I fell in love with him._

[ _pause, sound of cameras_ ]

_Anyone who knows Rafael knows that these charges are ridiculous. They would be laughable if they weren’t so serious and if they didn’t involve the cruel murder of a young woman._

_I’ve spoken with Rafael, and he, his lawyer, his mother, and I are going to fight these charges until the obvious truth is proven: that someone has gone to great lengths to frame him. We will not rest until his name is cleared and Yvonne Sherwood’s real killer is brought to justice._

_In the meantime, for the sake of our young son, we ask that the press respect our family’s privacy. My husband is innocent._

[ _long pause, then shouts of reporters_ ]

 _My husband, Rafael Barba, is innocent, and the person framing him_ will _pay for it and for the murder of Yvonne Sherwood. That is all I have to say._

GH: [ _quietly_ ] Wow.

KK: Yeah. Well, looks like she’s thinking the same thing as you, about him getting framed.

GH: Now I feel kind of bad. I hope it really wasn’t him.

KK: Well of course we hope it wasn’t him!

GH: I like that she talked about Yvonne.

KK: Yeah. I wonder what Yvonne’s family thinks of all this.

GH: I’m sure we’ll find out.

KK: Oh, definitely.

[ _pause_ ]

GH: I kind of like how _angry_ she sounded, too. Like she obviously really believes in him.

KK: Yeah. If he really is innocent I wouldn’t want to be the one who set him up.

GH: [ _laughs_ ] Definitely not.

KK: Well, it’ll be interesting to see how this turns out.

GH: Yeah, I think we’re definitely going to keep talking about this one, doing updates and stuff.

KK: Oh, for sure. Okay. Should we start on JonBenét?

GH: Let’s do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SSDGM! :)


	6. Day Three, Part One.

“The person responsible will  _ pay?  _ What the  _ hell  _ was that, Benson?” Rita leaned forward, her fists pressed against the table. She seemed to be taking up more space than her height accounted for. It was a small room. Olivia didn’t back down.

“I had to say it,” she said defensively. “We’re fighting back because he’s innocent, people have to know —”

“That was already in the statement!” Rita snapped. “God  _ damn  _ it, Olivia, we went over it a dozen times. ‘We’re going to fight these charges until the obvious truth is proven.’ That’s all you had to say.”

“Rita,” Rafael said quietly.

She ignored him. “Instead you added that you were going to  _ make someone pay,  _ which is a great way to set yourself up for accusations of having a vendetta. You’re supposed to be the determined wife and mother, not the rogue cop with an anger problem.”

“ _ Rita. _ ”

She looked down to where he sat at the table. Pale in a dark tan jumpsuit, stubble dusting his clenched jaw. “What.”

“It’s done.” He raised his eyes to meet hers. “Drop it.”

Rita’s lips disappeared into a thin, displeased line. “I’ll drop it if you promise me, Olivia, that you won’t talk like that in the press again. And that you’re not  _ actually  _ going to go on a vendetta.”

Olivia put her hand on her husband’s shoulder. He relaxed only slightly under her touch. “I promise,” she told Rita scathingly. She felt like a scolded child, but it wasn’t worth drawing out the fight.

“ _ Thank  _ you.” Rita pulled at the chair beside her to move it closer to the table, but it didn’t budge.

“It’s bolted to the floor,” Rafael informed her. He mustered up a wry tone: “We’re in a prison, remember?”  

His right hand lay clenched in his lap; his left was palm-down against the table in a pose that might look relaxed from a distance, but Olivia could see his wrist muscles straining as he pressed down against the metal, trying to ground himself. She squeezed his shoulder again and stayed standing. The closest chair would put her too far away to touch him. They were lucky the guards were letting her lay so much as a finger on him, even after patting her down. If any of them still held a grudge against Rafael from the Munson case years ago, they didn’t show it. They respected her badge — even when she wasn’t allowed to wear it — enough to look the other way as long as she didn’t push too far.

Rita grimaced and lowered herself into the seat where it sat just a few inches further from the table than was comfortable. “Alright,” she said. “I’m dropping it. Let’s discuss your legal strategy.”

Rafael leaned forward, eyes gone clear and sharp. “When does the prosecution turn over discovery?”

“Tomorrow morning. I tried to get it today but there’s some kind of hold-up. All they’ve given me is Detective Perry’s arrest report, and there’s nothing in there we didn’t already know.”

“And they haven’t set a trial date yet.” Rafael drummed his fingers on the table. “If they sit on discovery until the last minute…” 

“We’ll make it work,” Rita said confidently. “I’ll get the date pushed back if I have to.”

A knock sounded. Olivia dropped her hand from Rafael’s shoulder and stepped away from him; as soon as she did, Rita stood and yanked the door open. “I’m conferring with my client,” she said coldly. “Unless this is an emergency, I’ll have to ask you not to interrupt us again." 

“ADA Stone is here to speak with you,” the guard informed her, resolutely not looking into the room. “He’s in the visitor’s room. He said it’s urgent.”

Rita turned to Rafael, who nodded. She took her briefcase and followed the guard.

As soon as the door shut, Rafael stood and wrapped his arms around Olivia. “Thank you,” he said into her collarbone.

She pulled him closer. “For what?”

“‘The person framing him will pay for it and for the murder of Yvonne Sherwood,’” he quoted.

Olivia leaned away to look at his face. He looked back, earnest and sad. “You don’t think I sounded like a rogue cop?”

He gave a little half-shrug. “Some people will see it that way, Rita’s right about that. But plenty of others will find it convincing.”

“Convincing.”

“It did a good job of selling that you believe I’m innocent.” He tightened his arms around her, and she brought one hand up to stroke through the hair at the nape of his neck. His jumpsuit was rough against her skin. He made a small noise in the back of his throat.

“We’ll get you out of here,” Olivia murmured. “Are the C.O.s treating you alright? Do you feel safe?”

He let out a humorless little laugh. “Not particularly. But they’re not beating me up or threatening me. Either Gary Munson’s old friends don’t hold a grudge or they’re not assigned to, ah,  _ protect  _ me. I think I know which is more likely.”

Cold comfort. But at least he wasn’t in immediate danger. Still, she’d seen protective custody fail enough times to know better than to let her guard down. The tense slope of his shoulders, the desperate grip of his hands, reminded her that he’d seen it too.

“Can you think of anyone who could be behind this?” she asked.

Another bitter chuckle. “It’s a long list. But everyone on it is either in jail or doesn’t have the clout to pull this off.”

“You should write down that list,” she told him. “Give me the names, I’ll look into them.”

This time he was the one to pull away to scan her face. “Liv.” He paused, then shook his head: there was no use telling her not to break the rules, not when it came to protecting him. “Be careful.”

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “I will be,” she promised.

He shut his eyes and took a shaky breath. “How’s Noah?” he asked. “And my mom?”

Olivia touched his cheek, but he kept his eyes closed. “Your mom is holding up. Backbone of steel.” His mouth twitched towards a smile. “We told Noah you’re on a business trip. We’re keeping him away from the news.” She hesitated. “I’m thinking about pulling him out of school until this is over, but I don’t know how long…” 

Rafael opened his eyes. “You should tell him.” He sniffed and looked away. “It could be a month or more. You should tell him before he hears from someone else.”

Her eyes prickled. “No,” she protested, though she knew he was right. “No, I can keep —” 

The door swung open and they leapt apart.

It was only Rita.

“Well now I know why the prosecution stalled on handing over discovery,” she announced, dropping her briefcase on the table. “Stone wants to  _ meet _ with us tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” Rafael and Olivia asked simultaneously.

“He wants to go over the evidence together.” Rita’s eyes were narrow with suspicion. “He didn’t say why.”

Rafael lowered himself back into his chair. “I’d bet my Rolex,” he said, lifting his bare wrist with a sarcastic flourish, “that McCoy has a hand in this.”

“McCoy?” repeated Rita. “What makes you say that?”

He shrugged. “Instinct.” When Rita raised an eyebrow, he elaborated. “I didn’t miss the look Judge Barth gave him at my kangaroo court arraignment. Elana didn’t deny me bail based solely on her own judgement, I know that much.”

A loaded pause took hold of the room. Olivia broke it first: “Do you think McCoy… has something to do with your being framed?”

“No,” Rafael said, turning to look at her. “No, he’s a good man.” He snorted at the incredulous look she gave him. “He’s not a  _ bad  _ man,” he amended. “Not that kind, at least. But he’s the one who brought this prosecutor from all the way down from Chicago, and now Stone wants to break protocol to hold our hand and walk us through disclosure? They’re up to  _ some _ thing.”

“Hmm.” Rita’s mouth slanted as she considered this. Olivia couldn’t tell if she was skeptical, but at the very least she looked intrigued. “Well, tomorrow’s discussion will certainly be illuminating.”

“I hope so,” Rafael replied. This time when Olivia touched his back he leaned into her hand. “But I wouldn’t bet on Stone dropping his poker face.”

“None of this makes sense,” Olivia burst out. “This is insane, it —”  _ How can this be happening? How can this be allowed, how can it be possible? How can he, he of all people, be in prison? _

Rafael turned forward, his face an effortful mask of stoicism. “Well, it’s happening,” he said tightly.

Olivia willed herself not to close her eyes to his pain. “But we’ll get through it,” she told him. “We’ll get you out of here. I promise you that.” Rita looked at the floor, and Olivia chose to believe it was to give her privacy as she leaned down to kiss Rafael, soft and urgent, on the cheek. Not because Rita doubted her words. Not that.

Rafael reached up to catch a strand of her hair and twist it gently through his long fingers. “You need to tell Noah the truth,” he said, voice unbearably soft. His eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he blinked hard. “My mom can help. Please, Liv.”

She took his face in her hands and refused to cry. “Okay,” she agreed. “Okay. I will.”

Their eyes were wet when they said goodbye, but neither of them wept as the guards led Rafael away.


End file.
